


the art of breaking (and living regardless)

by aryelee



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Family, Loss, Multi, Post-Narnia, as in each time they returned to England, it finished this at 3am let me cry, plus susan's post train crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 11:17:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15363444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryelee/pseuds/aryelee
Summary: Each time they return from Narnia, it hurts a little more.Leaving for good breaks them.But they are Pevensies, Kings and Queens, and they will keep living regardless.(Or: life after narnia from their eyes ft. coping, gay edmund, bi lucy)





	the art of breaking (and living regardless)

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 2018 narnia summer exchange

1\. Peter.

 

He didn’t feel it, at first. Not as much as the others. A quick tumble through the wardrobe and into their young bodies; more than loss, it felt like suffocation. The lush landscape of Narnia gave way to the quiet England countryside and all Peter could do was stare at the sky and wonder where home was.

Leaving Narnia didn’t feel real. Not really. It felt like a break, just a quick trip back to England and then they’re all off again back to their kingdom and the responsibilities they’ve learned to shoulder with ease. He thinks that they’ll be back soon, and everything will be as it should.

It doesn’t start with leaving.

It starts with guilt.

Peter doesn’t sleep much anymore. The air is too quiet. The air itself is so devoid of magic he feels the loss in his soul. He knows Lucy sneaks out to the wardrobe every night to check if the back is wood. He knows Susan writes and writes and writes until she runs out of ink and can’t move her fingers from the pain. He knows Edmund spends all day outside listening to the trees and trying to find the magic that let them into Narnia the first time.

And he can’t help them. Because Peter lays awake at night staring first at plain walls, then to the stars that he’s no longer familiar with. His body is too small, too weak, nothing like that of a king. It’s only at the break of dawn that he lets himself weep over the loss of his kingdom, weep at his accidental abandonment of his people, and pray that they live as strongly as they can. He prays that they may all forgive him one day.

 

* * *

 

Peter lives. He sleeps easier now, a year later. The Narnia he once ruled died hundred of years ago. Caspian lives to take his place, to care for the land he can never return to, and Peter sleeps just so he can dream about the Narnia he knew; it’s the only way he can ever see his people again. He sleeps, so he can drown out the sound of Susan weeping. He can barely shoulder his own pain. If he tries to help her now it will only hurt them both. But Edmund and Lucy remember and dream and hold on to the hope that they can return again someday.

Peter focuses on their laughs and their smiles and makes sure Susan is eating enough because he may not be a king anymore, but he is still their older brother.

He looks for Aslan, but he doesn’t know where to look. So Peter looks at mothers smiling at their children. He looks at dogs running down the streets with tails wagging. He looks at the flowers that grow concrete and birds that nest in train stations and wonders what he’s looking for.

He doesn’t get into fights anymore. He becomes a star student, leading clubs to feel a fraction of the weight that came with ruling a kingdom. England praises him but it’s not enough. His parents say a sweet girl will cheer him up, but Narnia was his first and only love and Peter will hold on to that heartbreak; it’s all he has left of it.

 

* * *

 

   

England holds too many memories. So when their parents offer to take him and Susan with them to America, he doesn’t hesitate to say yes. Susan follows, and he can see the desperation for escape in her eyes.

But it still hurts. He’s losing Edmund and Lucy now too. They’re all older now, not as old as they once were but older than before, and he still worries about them. Peter has always taken care of others; it’s his duty as both a king and an older brother. But all he has is Susan and from what he’s seen of her right hook, she can more than take care of herself.

Peter feels himself breaking now more than ever, more than losing Narnia twice, more than hearing the bombs go off, more than hearing his siblings cry.

They reach America, and the pain doesn’t get any better.

 

* * *

 

  

Healing begins with a cat. It’s old and grumpy, scarred from a lifetime on the streets, but it follows him to a lake and stares at him until he gave it some of his lunch.

The cat left. And came back. Day after day after day.

Susan writes about it to Edmund and Lucy. Sometimes, Peter will add little notes to his letter and wish them well.

The cat is blind in one eye. It’s got sharp claws and a sharper hiss. It’s fur is dirty and matted but Peter can still see patches of color in the fur. But it’s soft, as he finds out after two weeks of the cat following him. He pets it while it eats some of his lunch, and stares up at him with iron eyes.

They adopt the cat that day. Or rather, the cat adopts Peter.

It’s still grumpy; it refuses to be touched in the mornings and has one specific spot for sunbathing, knocks everything off of tables and counters, and ignores everyone a good 90% of the time. But it also meows Peter out of nightmares of old battles, of Edmund dying and being unable to bring him back, of friends dying after a failed attack on an enemy castle. It curls up on his lap and lets him pet it until Peter can breathe again. They sit like that until morning when Susan shuffles down the hallway with ink on her hands because she has nightmare too.

Lucy sends a letter asking about the cats name. She suggests Cheepireep as a tribute to their favorite mouse friend, and finding the humor in this, Peter does. Cheepireep, or “Chee” for short, gives no reaction, but catches a mouse to let loose in the house later that day.

Peter laughs, and though he knows his heart will never fully heal after losing Narnia twice, he pets Chee and thinks that someday, he can be happy in this world.

 

 

 

2\. Susan.

 

It’s different from school assignments, this writing. There’s nothing particularly sophisticated about it. There’s no research at all. There’s no worry about red ink or incorrect grammar. No, this writing is memories and stories and dreams and sometimes the ink runs a little from her tears but she writes until her hand cramps and the pain won’t leave.

She thinks of the book she read and the documents traded between Narnia and other countries, other creatures, and the smell of paper is so different from the parchment she’s gotten used to.

Susan doesn’t talk about Narnia. She listens to her siblings speak and try to find a way back and she writes about their voices and the stories they tell in fear of losing this world too. She writes and grabs extra inkwells from the Professor’s office. She writes and fights back panic each time memories blur together and she can’t quite recall what the name of a centaur was. She writes and tries to recreate Narnia in her words but the magic isn’t there and that may be the worst part of it.

But there’s a catharsis in watching the ink fill the pages and Edmunds quietly hands her one of his unused journals without a word. Susan thinks she would have died long ago if it hadn’t been for her siblings.

Lucy and Peter catch on, too, and help her back onto her feet with little gestures of love. A pen here, blue ink there, a cup of tea placed on the table besides her; Susan smiles at each one and commits them all to memory.

When they go back to London, Susan has written so much she feels that she carries Narnia back with them.

 

* * *

 

 

Susan is the Gentle Queen. She wore the title well and took down threats with stone cold words, all the protect her people. Her siblings are all she has left of Narnia now, and Susan whips out smart remarks and arguments that lighten the punishment Peter gets for fighting and Edmund for joining him. Her teachers don’t understand her coldness, but give her high marks in her essays and when a classmate asks for help, Susan guides them through writing an argument until their eyes light up in understanding and the words flow onto the paper with ease.

The world around her is her kingdom; Susan will stay Queen in all the ways that matter. She helps when asked and defends when it’s needed. Adults shake their heads at her, mutter about her finding a boy, and Susan can barely hold back a bitter laugh; she has been as old as them before, and she has held more responsibility. What’s the use of getting a boy when there’s a kingdom to protect?

Susan writes this too, and remembers Narnia and how strong she felt with a bow in her hands.

Susan writes at home, late at night. She writes in class, little notes of memories in the margin of her notes. She writes in the library after she’s finished her school work. A boy tries to correct her, looking over her shoulder and saying her grammar is wrong, that words are misspelled, that it’s too emotional and messy and it’s only to be expected from girls; there is no helping her when she’s too ‘girl’ to understand how he’s helping her.

She packs her things and walks out. The boy follows, and though he’s taller than her and has broad shoulders and large arms that speak of heavy lifting, Susan feels no fear as she turns on her heel and punches him in the mouth as he comments on her fragility. He goes down hard, spitting blood, a lip split, and cursing up a storm. But he leaves when she draws back her right arm again and Susan watches him turn the corner and disappear from her sight.

There are bruises on her knuckles but the satisfaction overrides the pain; there in gentleness in strength, in bruises, in fighting back.

Susan wishes for a bow, feels the emptiness in her palm, and wakes up crying.

 

* * *

 

Caspian. Oh, _Caspian_. All the what-if’s between them. But Susan has always known she was living on borrowed time. There was no kingdom left for her and all her people were long dead. She would have cried if there was no war to fight.

Susan kisses him goodbye, kisses Narnia goodbye, and leaves her heart behind in a magical land that was kinder to her than England could ever be. She walks into a crowded train station head held high, a school girl once more.

And she doesn’t weep.

She writes through her classes and borrows notes from a friend. She writes in Edmund’s old journal and fills every page. She fills every other journal she’s bought and buys more the moment the stores open in the morning. Susan hasn’t slept at all. But that’s okay, for none of her siblings did either.

Susan writes. And once she’s done and the pain makes her hand uselessly still, Susan lets herself cry until she falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

   

She will never go back. Neither will Peter. They follow their parents to America, and this is easier than facing the ghosts of Narnia in the streets of London.

They pack up her journals and ship them over the sea. She writes to Lucy and Edmund while Peter loses himself. A part of her wants to help him. A bigger part tells her to help herself before she brings them all down. Lucy’s letters are tied together and placed alongside her finished journals.

America is kind to her. Men fall to their knees for her and it almost feels like being Queen again, but it was her strength that Narnia admired, not her beauty.

Susan begins writing about three worlds. She never writes down her dreams.

She still wakes up crying.

 

* * *

 

It always ends in a train station, she’s noticed. Narnia ends in a train station.

Susan can’t bring herself to burn the journals or Lucy’s letters. She tucks them away and buries the memories as best she can. Part of her wishes she hadn’t grown to ignore Narnia so she could share the memories with everyone else and immortalize them in the pages of her journals.

She doesn’t take out her journals again. Not until she’s only got a few years left to live. By then, Susan has forgotten everything she’s written down and feels the sting of loss all over again.

 

 

 

3\. Edmund.

 

He hates his body. It’s the first thing he thinks when he wakes up and finds that losing Narnia wasn’t some terrible dream. He was King: strong and brave, the best swordsman in Narnia. But now his body belongs to a bitter boy, small and weak and known for cruelty. It’s the body of a traitor and Edmund wants desperately to leave that behind him.

He misses Philip so much it hurts. The freedom to go where he pleased, to always be with a friend, to see all edges of his kingdom and dedicate his life to it; to have it all ripped away is the cruelest fate he could be given and he wants to hate Aslan for this, but really, he blames himself.

It was the lamp post. He should have remembered it. Remembered the wardrobe and the feeling of fur coats suffocating him. But he had forgotten in the beauty of Narnia and it’s his own fault.

Edmund doesn’t stay inside. His past self would be recoiling in horror; memories of locking himself away inside to stew in his own bitterness come to mind and he can’t stand being with the ghost of his past, so he leaves.

The trees don’t talk. The wind doesn’t sing. The animals are dumb and easily frightened. Nothing is the same. But there is a freedom here too; away from the smoke-choked streets of London and her dirty cobblestone roads and the judgement of every stranger he passes. He is alone but he learns to live in this body again. He climbs trees and jumps over streams and skins his knees. He practices without a sword, but he practices, blocks and stabs and quick footwork. Edmund refuses to waste away. He’s done enough of that before, both in London and at the White Witch’s camp.

He hates his body. So he works until he doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

London is so loud. People are always yelling, always upset and in a rush, and no one can see how lucky they are to have their homes and loved ones. Edmund doesn’t look back. He looks straight ahead to the people in the station and wonders at how quickly things change. He forgets his chess piece in Narnia. He hopes whoever finds it will remember him.

His teachers later remark at how quiet he’s become. Where before he was all fight and spitting fire and trying to change things, now his voice is stolen from him. Edmund looks out to his classmates and wonders at the Telemarines living in Narnia.

There is no forest to run through here, so Edmund turns to boxing. He throws punches and ducks and dodges. His feet remember how to move in battle with this body and he’s the quickest in the ring. He doesn’t compete, but when one of the boys he spars with presses him against the wall of the locker room and kisses him messy, it still feels like victory.

 

* * *

 

The ground is too steady under his feet. Gone are the swaying of the boat and the shifting sands. Now it’s wood that creaks and concrete.

Edmund spends most of the first night back submerged under a filled bathtub and letting the water muffle his senses. He stays under until he gets light headed and his lungs ache, and when he pushes up through the water and sucks in deep breaths, he pretends he isn’t crying.

Lucy stares out the window to the London streets. Eustace doesn’t acknowledge how his hands shake when he turns the painting over. Edmund quietly makes them all tea and they sit in silence until the sun rises and day starts anew.

They speak about Narnia. Eustace listens to their stories of their rule in the Golden Age, then of how they helped Caspian. He listens and asks about Peter and Susan. He asks if he’ll ever go back to Narnia. Edmund knows he will; Narnia will never leave them, but Eustace had only began to learn what he needed to know when they came back.

Lucy writes to Susan. Tells Edmund and Eustace about Peter’s new cat. They keep living as they always did, but the change is permanent and the sting of loss never gets any more bearable.

He dreams of a boat at the end of the world. He dreams of dragons and white stags. He dreams of Caspian and understands why Susan would leave the first few times their parents brought up the idea of a boyfriend. Edmund wakes up and his heart is in pieces; Narnia shaped who he is, but London will break him down again.

Edmund goes back to boxing. He tries to forget the pain of Narnia as his sparring partner holds him close. He apologizes when he sees how he’s using his partner, and they agree to stay friends until they’re ready to handle something more.

There’s hope in that; a life after Narnia, and Edmund clings to it like a man drowning. He keeps throwing punches and dancing around his opponents. He makes tea for Lucy and Eustace and they help him bake comfort foods as they keep moving forward.

He looks into the mirror one day, and doesn’t hate himself at all.

 

 

 

4\. Lucy.

 

The wardrobe doesn’t change. She creeps in night after night despite the Professor telling her to sleep. The back is always wood. She never stops checking.

Peter doesn’t sleep. Susan can’t tear herself away from writing. Edmund disappears of hours. Lucy understands them better than ever; a few decades of ruling together will do that. She feels the pain of loss as deeply as her siblings, but Lucy has never been one to lose hope.

They left their hearts in Narnia. It only makes sense that one day they will go back to retrieve them. Lucy can wait; patience is an important skill she learned as Queen.

Lucy knows this is something her siblings will have to adjust to themselves. She leaves them little gifts and speaks to them when they look for distraction. She tells them to all the ways she’s snuck out of Cair Paravel and listen to their gasps, their laughs, their scoldings and slowly, Edmund opens up about how he learned to dance, and Susan with how she used to go out on her own and teach young girls how to shoot, and Peter with how he once slept through a meeting and no one knew.

They sit together and remember until it starts to hurt. They go on their separate ways and Lucy wishes she could help them more. She goes outside, not to follow Edmund, but to walk around the manor with her feet bare. She asks the Professor if she can plant a garden, keep her hands busy, and he comes down from his office to help. Their clothes get dirty and Lucy laughs at the cryptic remarks he makes, and Mcready nearly faints at the mud on their hands.

She helps too, though, gives Lucy a dress she can work in and gloves. She plants a vegetable garden and Lucy helps pry bugs off the leaves.

The world is quiet and there’s no magic in the air, but it’s still beautiful and Lucy is sad to leave it behind.

 

* * *

 

  

She can’t help but look back and she sees the wrong crowd of people and wants to cry. The train whistles and then noise makes her flinch, her school uniform feels rough on her skin and she wants to go back.

But it’s a school day and Lucy can’t even remember what she’s supposed to be learning or if she did her homework. It’s a long day. The first day back always is.

Lucy adjusts. She grows. Boys will take books from girls and Lucy will march up to them snarling and ripping books back out of their hands. She grew under the guidance of a lion; she knows how to win these fights. Lucy helps other girls up, tells them not to let things happen to them, tells them they’re all stronger than anyone wants them to be until they believe it and fight their own battles. Lucy helps the younger, the smaller, the weaker, and shows them to win with both kindness and ferocity.

Susan and Peter leave for America. It’s hard to see them go, but she knows the ties of family will always bring them together in the end. She watches them leave under a bright sun, and if she squints her eyes it looks like the mane of a lion.

There are no dryads here, but Lucy still dances to songs on the radio during lunch, pulling her friends up and twirling them. Her first kiss is with a girl. Her second with a guy. She decides she likes both.

Lucy draws lions and lamp posts and dreams of Narnia every night. It hurts, but it keeps her going.

They live with their aunt and cousin. It’s terrible for a while, but soon Eustace’s childish bullying fades into background noise and Lucy remembers living as Queen and wonders what her future holds in England. Her heart aches as she accepts the loss of the magic land she found in a wardrobe all those years ago, but she is still alive, and Lucy intends to live.

 

* * *

 

The third time out is the hardest: it’s with painful clarity that she and Edmund know that they will never see Narnia again. Eustace experiences the shock of returning for the first time. Edmund stands and adjusts with practice of previous goodbyes. He’s always been good at surviving.

And Lucy dreams about drowning.

She wakes up gasping for air and wiping away tears. The ache in her heart doesn’t fade. She wishes it never will; it’s all she has left of Narnia. She doesn’t go back to sleep.

Afterwards, Lucy can’t go swimming without remembering the Dawn Treader and the end of the world and Reepicheep. She remembers drowning, remembers living, remembers losing. She watches others swim in clear water. The pool has no resemblance to the sea, but it’s all Lucy can remember.

The world changes slowly. Boys still pick on girls. Lucy defends them. Lucy protects everyone. She sets people up, and soon her classmates come to her for advice. They are shy and quiet and can’t look her in the eye, but smile when she agrees to help.

It feels like being Queen again, but the dagger is replaced with a school book and there is no crown upon her head.

Lucy claws her way into a new life in England. If the world will not change, then she will be the change the people in her life need.

There is no Aslan here, but she has the courage of a lioness and will guide her people where He can not.

 

 


End file.
